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The Hanged Man. Only a few days after the conclusion of Kirkwall’s war between mages and templars. Past midnight.
An aggressive knock on the door interrupted Varric’s writing.
“Corff? How can I help you?” the dwarf gave the bartender a half-smile.
“We’re closing but your friend refuses to leave. I can’t throw them out, they’re the Champion. Do something about it,” the bartender crossed his arms, infuriated.
“Hawke’s here? All right, I’ll deal with them, don’t worry.”
The dwarf left his room and headed towards the common area of the Hanged Man. The smell was at its worst after a long, crowded day of cheap drinking, swearing and chanting. He found his friend all alone in the corner of the bar, resting their head and arms on the table along with several empty bottles and mugs.
“Hawke?” Varric stood next to them, placing his hand on their armored shoulder. “You okay?” No response. Another try, this time with a gentle shake.
“Leave me alone,” the Champion whined in a labored breath.
“I’d honor your wishes, you see, but Corff is gonna kick me out if you don’t leave. C’mon, you can rest in my room if you’d like.”
Even drunk, those words made their heart ache. The Champion raised their head and stared at their friend, sad and tired eyes that could pierce the toughest of warriors.
“Why are you still here, Varric?” the dwarf could smell their boozy breath a mile away.
“Well, I live here, in case you forgot.”
“No, I mean… Why are you still my friend? Everybody else left. Father, mother and Bethany are dead. Carver sees me as his rival. Anders betrayed all of us. Isabela returned to the sea as soon as she got her money. Merrill and I can’t agree on blood magic while Fenris despises us both for being mages. Even Sebastian left to be a pretty prince. There’s only you and Aveline now. What’s preventing you and Bianca from eloping, after all?”
Hawke was the only person in the entire Thedas capable of leaving Varric speechless. A storyteller with no words left to tell. A liar without a weapon. It’s not like the dwarf didn’t want to settle down, that much was true. But Kirkwall was his home and things were complicated between him and Bianca. And, most recently, there was a better reason to stay and take the city to a brighter future: he had a partner in crime, someone he could finally trust and thrive with.
“What are you even saying? Without me, this city is doomed. Sure, it’s been destroyed by the Arishok and the civil war, but aside from that? Plus they won’t admit it but they need me in the Merchants Guild. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then perhaps I will,” Hawke looked away and took the last sip of a cheap beer. “There’s a rumor of an Exalted March on Kirkwall after the mages rebelled. And I don’t need to remind you who led the rebellion, do I? If I go, there’s a chance they’ll come after me and leave the rest of the Circle alone.”
“Y-You can’t be serious! The Chantry knows Meredith was responsible for pushing the mages to their limits. She’s right there at the Gallows as we speak, crystallized in red lyrium like a souvenir!”
“And yet, they’d still find a way to blame the mages. Let’s be realistic. I’m an apostate leading a mage rebellion against templars. I dare you paint a better target for a scapegoat.”
Although the dwarf would hate to admit it, Hawke was right. The citizens of Kirkwall might have mixed feelings towards the Champion, but the Chantry? Aveline could vouch for them at the top of her lungs, it wouldn’t make a difference. Even so, Varric had a more selfish reason for them to stay. They were his dear friend. After so many years, watching them go would be quite painful, even though he kept that part to himself.
“All right. With one condition, then. We keep in touch. We exchange letters often.”
“See? It wasn’t that hard, was it now?” they scoffed, the sarcastic personality slowly returning. After a long sigh, they stood up. “I should go home. Let’s discuss this mess first thing in the morning, shall we? The sooner the better for everyone.”
Except for me, the dwarf took a good look at Hawke and decided to help them all the way to their estate in Hightown. Kirkwall’s alleys became even more dangerous after the rebellion, if that could even be possible. Luckily, they remained unscathed. People were afraid and tensions between mages and templars didn’t disappear overnight.
The huge mabari hound greeted the two with enthusiasm, wagging its tail and hopping back and forth. The mansion felt deserted, haunted even. It turns out even Bodahn and Sandal moved on, too afraid of Hawke’s natural ability to attract disaster and tragedy.
Varric laid the Champion on their bed, leaving the staff at their side. The armor looked uncomfortable to sleep on but the dwarf didn’t want to invade their personal space. Besides, they looked exhausted.
“Sleep tight, Chuckles.”
As he crossed the hall towards the main entrance, he noticed the family portraits on the wall. Malcolm, Leandra and Bethany, all but memories now, just like Bartrand. At least, Hawke was brave enough to go against their own brother by not taking him to the Deep Roads. Nothing good happens in the Deep Roads, as they’d find out.
It occurred to the dwarf, then, that both of them lost their whole families. They only had each other now. Or at least until Hawke fled to Maker knows where.
The storyteller took a last look at the mabari and patted its head.
“I just hope our Champion knows what they’re doing. I can’t protect them if they’re not around,” he sighed, closing the door and heading back to the Hanged Man.
***
Skyhold. The night Cassandra learns that Varric lied about Hawke’s whereabouts.
The Seeker was furious, and to be fair, it was her default state, but throwing hands (and a chair) was probably a little too much, perhaps a hint that Varric might have crossed a line. One she could not forgive nor forget had the Inquisitor not interfered.
“I said enough!” the leader shouted, raising their voice and separating the two. The Seeker halted for a moment, surprised at the Inquisitor’s tone, one which they only used when dealing with the worst of their enemies. Still, she had the right to be angry. Mostly at herself for trusting Kirkwall’s biggest liar. She never asked the reason why he did it, though. Her moral code wouldn’t let her believe lies are justifiable, in any case.
“Go, Varric. Just… go.”
The dwarf looked at the Inquisitor one last time and did as told, but not before speaking his own mind.
“You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the temple, they’d be dead, too. You people have done enough to them.”
Skyhold was huge and majestic, but seemed small and suffocating that night. Varric found a nice and cozy room on the second floor of the fortress, way fancier than the one he had at the Hanged Man. Still, he missed everything about home, even the smell of piss and vomit. But what he missed the most? Hawke.
The dwarf chuckled: thinking of them right after the words “piss” and “vomit” wouldn’t go unnoticed by his friend. They’d make a remark or two, fueled by irony and sarcasm. The picture was so clear in his head that it almost felt real. No one knew Hawke like Varric did. No one cared for them like he did. And now he feared that bringing Hawke to that sodding mess would end up in some kind of tragedy. He’d know, he was a hell of a writer, after all.
In truth, Varric was torn, stretched thin. In order to protect Hawke’s whereabouts, the dwarf lied to Cassandra, endured her harassment and allowed her to drag his butt to Fereldan. He did it for them and by the Maker he’d do it all over again.
Now pacing back and forth in his room, the dwarf wondered if he had enough ale to shoo the bad thoughts away.
“Andraste’s butt,” he cursed under his tongue, deciding to sit at his desk at last and stare at the blank pages of his new book. Writing has always come naturally to him, but the late events were keeping him from focusing. The storyteller did his best to keep his friend out of trouble, but the moment that… thing returned, he knew Hawke would be involved, one way or another. The Champion of Kirkwall always thought Corypheus to be their problem, but Varric took the matter to a deeper level. He felt responsible for leading Hawke and their friends to that monster, even though he knew they were going for a trap. Besides, there was red lyrium. Shit was everywhere, and they were both deep into this pit.
“If not for me, you’d never be involved in this shit,” that thought haunted the dwarf often. Whenever he wrote Hawke, however, he kept that feeling to himself. “I’m sorry I’m involving you again,” he gave up on the book. With curved shoulders, he vocalized a heavy sigh, wishing that his friend would hear those words he wasn’t brave enough to manifest in front of them.
“If something happens to you…” Varric rubbed his thumb on the feather pen. “How can I ever move on?”
***
The highest wall of Skyhold. The day Varric introduces Hawke to the Inquisitor. Noon.
The Inquisitor and the storyteller were discussing matters related to their next steps at the previously appointed rendezvous when the Champion arrived to greet them. It was about time they joined forces to defeat their enemy in common. Varric did the honors.
“Hawke, the Inquisitor. I figured you might have some friendly advice about Corypheus. You and I did fight him, after all.”
Following the initial introduction, the dwarf watched the two exchange information as he allowed himself to take delight in a bottle of wine. Anything to make that moment a little less overwhelming. It turns out Hawke wasn’t just hiding. Getting involved was an intrinsic trait of theirs. At first, the issue seemed unrelated: they went after the Wardens in order to learn more about red lyrium when rumors of corruption in their high ranks and persecution of a friend of theirs, a man named Stroud, surfaced.
Wardens, red templars, Venatori… Corypheus had them all in his twisted and blighted pocket. The end of the world seemed… No, it felt real.
“Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought I’d killed him before. This time, I’ll make sure of it,” the Champion was resolute.
Waves of pride and guilt crashed together in Varric’s heart. Not long ago, he confessed his alleged sins to the Inquisitor during a tough conversation.
“I was the one who led Hawke to Corypheus. If I hadn’t tracked the Carta to that ruin…” he never finished his train of thought but it was clear as day that he felt responsible. The burden on Hawke’s shoulder? His fault. Corypheus’ escape? His doing. Red lyrium all over Ferelden, Orlais and possibly the Free Marches? It began with their expedition. It wasn’t fair to the Champion, and yet, what could a rogue dwarf do all alone to fix such a colossal mess? Shit, his bottle was getting empty fast.
“Then it’s settled. We’ll meet at this smuggler’s cave in Crestwood in a few days. Feel free to find a room and stay as much as you’d like,” the Inquisitor bowed politely and left to attend to other matters.
The dwarf made a gesture with his head, indicating Hawke to follow him.
“I’ll show you around. The tavern here is nothing like the Hanged Man, and I say that as a compliment.”
Varric made sure Hawke met as many people as possible, from the Orlesian fancy mage in the main hall to the peculiar spirit living in the attic of the Herald’s Rest. His companions were very different from their previous party from Kirkwall and yet a little familiar. Different backgrounds and personalities in a struggle to find a common ground and grasp for personal connections. Cassandra was the most eager – she was a fan, after all. When asking for an autograph, she handed the same copy of The Tale of the Champion she had while interrogating the storyteller. “The one with a hole”, the dwarf pointed. At least, that act was enough for them to forget about their previous quarrel.
In truth, it was a nice change of pace for Hawke. Their reputation was… dissonant back home. Some believed them to be a beacon of hope, especially the mages. Others blamed them for every bad occurrence in the city of slaves, even the loss of their own mother at the hands of a serial killer. But nothing like a hint of drama and adventure, Varric’s most powerful weapons, to paint a picture of a beloved hero. Ferelden was desperate for these characters after so many consecutive blights.
They concluded their tour at the Herald’s Rest where they’d spend the rest of the night playing Wicked Grace, catching up and drinking good wine, all thanks to Josephine’s connections to privileged merchants.
“So… What do you think of this place and its people?”
“It feels like Kirkwall but colder,” the Champion scorned. “Although I do believe your book made things a little more colorful. No one swung an ax at my face and demanded my head so far, which is a good start.”
They both laughed at the tragedy of their lives. There was nothing romantic about Hawke’s existence, only good and bad luck through and through.
“Did anyone pick your interest?”
“Oh, definitely. The Inquisitor does have their charm.”
“Heh, sorry to inform you but you’re late. Word says both our ambassador and commander got the Inquisitor’s favor.”
“They got two partners? Damn, the Maker does have his favorites… Onto other matters, then. What can you tell me about the odd little guy living in the attic? You mentioned he plays a few pranks.”
“Ah, yes. Cole. Those are not exactly pranks. That would be Sera’s favorite pastime. She loves them, especially if you’re nobility. Now, Cole is… strange. I think he was a spirit or something like that. He doesn’t understand our behavior in the real world but he tries his hardest to help in his own way. Hence the pranks. He’s more human now, I think. Solas and I took him to confront the templar who killed the original kid. That experience changed him. Heh, Chuckles was not pleased but I hope he understands…”
“All very interesting, although I can’t help but notice that the elf and I share the same nickname. Care to explain?”
“Shit, I forgot nothing escapes your ears. Look, in my defense, it was a slip of the tongue. You know how I nickname everyone once I get used to them? He’s a mage, you’re a mage, I was thinking of our time in Kirkwall… Cassandra was there so I had to stick with it and pretend it was intentional. No big deal, honestly.”
“Aw, you were thinking of me? In that case, you’re forgiven,” Hawke didn’t miss the opportunity to annoy the dwarf and use his sentimentalism against him.
“Shut up,” Varric grumbled, drawing another card. “And that’s game. Let’s wrap it up for today. There’s a vacant room next to mine. Stay over.”
“Since you insist… I’m leaving early in the morning, though. I need to contact Stroud in advance, otherwise he’ll flee as soon as he sees your team. Ah, and be careful there. Lots of undead. Same old blood magic brontocrap.”
“Didn’t I tell you? Just like home…”
***
Skyhold. Two days after the confrontation between the Inquisitor’s team and Lord Livius Erimond in the Western Approach.
Hawke was uneasy. Blood magic, yet again. They had enough. Notwithstanding the events that made their life very difficult back in Kirkwall, the Champion also had to face it one more time against mind control. It never ends well. Merrill, Leandra, Orsino and now Corypheus’ army of mindless templars. And the worst part? The consequences always blew up in their face, regardless of their vow to never perform it. At least, they knew they could count on the Inquisitor. Their previous assault in the Western Approach proved them that much. Still, they were about to face an army of corrupted templars in Adamant Fortress, and all they could do was wait for the council to come up with a plan.
Waiting outside the room, the Champion and the storyteller exchanged a few words. While Hawke embraced the full responsibility for Corypheus’ war, they were also aware that Cassandra forced Varric into joining the Inquisition because of them.
“I know how much you hated leaving Kirkwall,” they tried apologizing but the words died inside their throat. They both left the city in a hurry for a while right after the civil war, a quick vacation of sorts to figure out what to do next. Even so, they were together, spending some time at an inn near Ostwick. It wasn’t that bad. The Inquisition, however? At first, Varric was an official prisoner, even though he would lie about it and call himself a tagalong.
In truth, the dwarf was free to return now, although he decided to stay and finish his part in all this. Both of them had their own reasons and their own guilt to get rid of. It wasn’t easy to tell Hawke that, but Varric made an effort, too afraid he’d lose his opportunity for good.
“If it weren’t for me and Bartrand, none of this would have happened. So much for changing our lives.”
“That’s what happens when you try to change things. Things change. You can’t always control how.”
That was not exactly what the Champion wanted to say to reassure their friend. They’d rather tell him they were also there at the Thaig when they found the idol. They’d rather tell him red lyrium wasn’t his doing. None of that mattered anymore, anyway. Things indeed changed. They shared their treasures, they were settled for life in a city that mistreated them often and became a daily reminder of misfortune. Despite it all, it was all they had. And they were eager to return and make it better.
***
Adamant Fortress. A few moments before the ritual is completed.
The Inquisitor left the War Table with a plan ready to be executed. Commander Cullen would lead the tropes to Adamant Fortress, cleaning a path towards Warden-Commander Clarel and Lord Erimond in order to stop the ritual. Whether or not the templars were complicit, they needed to answer for their actions.
If only it was that simple… Nothing is when it comes to heroes. Not that the dwarf considered himself one. He was a liar, a merchant, the main figure of his own web of spies. But the Inquisitor? Hawke? Stroud? They’d certainly fit into that category. Which is why he was so worried. Heroes don’t get their happy endings.
The whole party was present when the gates fell. Once more, Hawke decided to go ahead and assist the soldiers up in the battlements. Varric knew the reason why his friend was trying to make it up for what happened in the ruins. It didn’t mean he agreed to said reckless behavior. It was a relief then when they met again and the dwarf noticed they were fine despite the stains of blood on their armor.
Obviously, it all went to hell soon afterwards. On the one hand, the Inquisitor convinced the templars that they were being manipulated. On the other hand, Erimond summoned Corypheus’ Archdemon. Clarel sacrificed herself to save the rest of the group from the dragon, but her magic was too strong, tearing the bridge apart and bringing everyone down with her.
Instinctively, the Inquisitor managed to open a tear in midair, taking their friends to the Fade with them before they could fall and die. As if by a stroke of luck, nearly everyone on the team had a previous experience with that mysterious place, albeit not in their physical forms: the Inquisitor and Vivienne with their Harrowing, Solas had it almost as a second home, Hawke and Varric when helping Feynriel back in Kirkwall, and lastly, Cole. The spirit did not take it well.
“I can’t be here. Not like this, not like me!” he panicked. “Wrong, wrong, wrong. Wringing me out. Wrought right and rigid. Can’t relax. Can’t release…”
“You doing all right, kid?” Varric had grown very fond of Cole. While most were afraid and accused him of being a demon, the dwarf saw the goodness in his metaphorical heart to the point of embracing a caring and parental role.
“It’s all right, Cole. We’ll get you out of here soon,” the Inquisitor reassured the spirit as well. He thanked both in return.
There was a way out, at least. The same rift they went through was not that far. Obviously, it wouldn’t be a walk in the park. Solas warned the team about the creature who controlled that part of the Fade: a fear demon, the embodiment of Nightmare. From that moment on, they wouldn’t just be in danger due to spirits and demons. Their minds would also be tested and tempted.
Solas seemed fascinated to his friends, even though there was another feeling lingering in his heart, a sense of familiarity behind a veil of secrecy, one which only a spirit would know. Luckily for him, Cole never mentioned he was actually Fen’Harel. In any case, it was not his time just yet, although being physically in the Fade brought some memories back. He kept them all to himself, unaware that those same memories would later manifest in that world for a certain someone to see.
As they progressed, they met the Divine – or the shape of her memory, that is. She guided the group towards the rift, facing every minion Nightmare sent their way. The demon, however, was also inside their heads.
The assaults were made specifically for each member, attacking their very hearts and spirits through their fears. The first to be taunted was their leader: Nightmare played with the idea of the Inquisition itself, of its failure and the following consequences of a world dominated by Corypheus. The worst part is that they all could hear each other’s thoughts. They were all vulnerable and exposed.
“Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din,” said the embodiment of fear to the elven god.
“Banal nadas,” Solas replied, keeping the meaning of those words to himself. He was certain he’d make it up for his mistakes, and the key was the Inquisitor. Getting into the Fade in their physical forms was proof enough he was walking the right path.
Varric, on the other hand, was growing apprehensive. Which fear or regret would Nightmare use against him? Red lyrium? How he failed his brother by taking him out of his misery? He tried not to think about any of that, but the demon knew exactly how to hurt him.
“Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought Hawke here…”
Ah, of course…
“Just keep talking, Smiley,” he rebutted. And, while the dwarf knew the demon was trying to expose their weaknesses with lies and uncertainty, its words felt right.
“You do blame yourself a lot for my actions,” the Champion came closer and reassured him. “I’m here of my own accord. It was my decision to stop Corypheus.”
“I know,” he lied.
When taunted, Hawke didn’t even bother to reply, at least not directly. They made a remark about Nightmare’s minions manifesting as spiders. They hated spiders. Still, there was a resolve in their eyes that pushed them towards the future. They needed to fix so many things: the Circles, the corruption in the Grey Wardens, red lyrium, Corypheus, Kirkwall. Then, and only then, the Champion would lie down and rest as deserved. They still had hope, unaware that life was about to ask more and more of them.
“The Nightmare is closer now. It knows you seek escape. With each moment, it grows stronger.”
“Great, Hawke. Why not just dare the Old Gods to try and stop you?” the dwarf cursed under his tongue, although he did miss their old banter when trouble was just ahead. Unbeknownst to him, it would be their last.
There it was, the demon and its giant arachnid pet, the rift behind them. The memory of the Divine said goodbye and sacrificed herself to get an advantage. The Inquisition did not miss the opportunity and triumphed over the Nightmare after a difficult battle. They ran as fast as they could, grasping for freedom. Until the giant spider recovered from the previous blast and separated them. The Inquisitor, Hawke and Stroud stayed behind, the behemoth standing in their way. Someone had to lure it away. Someone had to stay.
Both the Champion and the rogue Grey Warden appealed to the Inquisitor. They had made many tough decisions as of late, none involved choosing a life over another. Hawke didn’t wait for an answer, though.
“Say goodbye to Varric for me,” they hesitated with a last glance to the Inquisitor. They trusted the leader to finish what they started. Moreover, they didn’t feel important. Suddenly, they felt compelled to die for a higher cause, one they couldn’t complete. They were also very tired.
The Inquisitor’s objections were fully ignored. Stroud grabbed them by their arm and dragged them out of the Fade. When everyone was reunited once more and the rift closed, Varric noticed his most treasured friend was nowhere to be found.
“Where’s Hawke?” his question was met with silence. “Where’s Hawke?” he repeated, staring at the Inquisitor and hoping for an answer.
“They died a hero,” it was not fair to use their sacrifice as fuel, still the Inquisitor was infuriated. They wanted to blame someone and the Grey Wardens became the main scapegoat. For everything they did, for the lives lost in the process of corruption and naivety, they were banished.
Varric didn’t give a shit about any of that. His friend was dead. His beloved Hawke. One moment, they were right next to him. And then the next? They were gone. His biggest fear, realized. For nothing. Absolutely nothing. He was through.
***
9:42 Dragon to 9:52 Dragon. Several places.
After Adamant Fortress, Varric’s life felt more or less like a blur, almost as if something was taken from his very soul. As a storyteller, he recalled the details that led the Inquisition towards success against Corypheus. He was there when the last stand was held. He definitely remembered shooting the blighted, cursed false god a few times. It wasn’t fulfilling as he expected. Sure the world would live another day so different people with opposing ideologies could exchange jabs. It was Thedas, after all. Not a single day goes by without turmoil. But the very song within his heart which brought him joy was gone.
He was made Viscount of Kirkwall afterwards. He felt the urge to rebuild the city and seek progress. He thought many times of getting rid of the horrifying twin statues that reminded people of its dark past, banishing the concept of an elven alienage in order to fight for equity, even restoring a reformed Chantry if needed. A lot of work for someone whose popularity was gradually growing among citizens. All these tasks seemed easy when compared to talking to Carver or Aveline.
They had been notified of Hawke’s fate through letters. The responses never came. When Varric returned, there was silence, grief and, later on, distance. Hawke’s mabari passed away only a few months after his return, probably out of sadness. Kirkwall has never been grayer.
It took the dwarf years to complete his book, mostly because he could never find the right words to explain what happened to his beloved friend. It had a fitting title: All This Shit Is Weird. He never felt any love towards it nor anyone else who crossed paths with him. His heart was stone cold, despite the appearances and the smile on his face.
Then politics resurfaced. The Inquisition became a target of people jealous of their power. It was disbanded, despite the secret survival of its agents. Notwithstanding, Solas finally made his move, entailing the reveal of his true nature: Fen’Harel.
Varric had a hard time trying to make any sense of that. Another betrayal, just like Anders but perhaps a little worse. Who could tell? All he knew is that Solas had hurt the Inquisitor and was up to something very dangerous. Charter looked for him in Kirkwall and requested that he’d find Solas with Lace Harding’s aid. Hadn’t he given enough? He should have known it was never enough. And now they were dragging another friend of his to this mess once more.
“Harding is far too kind and innocent for this shit, she doesn’t deserve the same fate,” the dwarf looked at the mirror one night and realized that his hair was starting to grow gray. The vibrant colors of his garbs gave place to colder tones. There was more life in the Hanged Man than in any room of the Viscount’s Keep. “I owe the Inquisitor, though. It started with me. It’s up to me to fix things.”
Against his will, Harding joined him. They traveled together, tracking down the elven god of ancient time who wanted to tear the world apart for whatever reason. From the Deep Roads to Arlathan Forest, from Vyrantium to Minrathous, they were always a step behind. That journey took its toll on Varric. He wasn’t the same anymore: a new scar on his face, a longer hair and beard, pain all over his body. He decided it was time to retire from the ear piercings as well. He didn’t realize back then but it wasn’t that much different from a Grey Warden’s calling to the Deep Roads, patiently waiting for certain death by darkspawn. He wasn’t one of them, yet he unconsciously hoped that road to be his last adventure.
It wasn’t. And he was tired. On top of that, fate would play with him all over again. He was about to experience that same feeling of paternal love he had with Cole. As per usual, Varric nicknamed his new acquaintance Rook. Somehow, that kid reminded him of Hawke. Maybe it was their eternal optimism and their bad luck altogether. Rook was a Shadow Dragon, a rogue mage and a troublefinder who stirred the outrage of everyone, even their own group thanks to their reckless actions. Rook didn’t care. As long as the slaves were free, it was worth it. The dwarf then saw their hidden potential and hired them. They were precisely the element of surprise Varric needed to find Solas.
In truth, the dwarf didn’t have a plan. He spent years chasing Solas’ shadow with the single idea of talking him down. Nights were wasted on the exact words he’d say to his old friend. None seemed enough. All he knew was that Solas wasn’t evil. He had a good reason to tear down the Veil, despite the catastrophic consequences. Moreover, Varric stood no chance against an elven god. For that very reason, he was aware that, one way or another, Solas was his final destination. And he was at peace with that idea.
***
Minrathous. The night Varric’s team is supposed to meet with investigator Neve.
Neve Gallus had a reputation for a reason. She finally managed to do what the Inquisition tried for over a decade and failed miserably: finding a solid lead to Solas’ whereabouts. Unfortunately for everyone involved, the Venatori didn’t stay quiet about it and patrolled the city in search of its members. As usual, that night was just getting started. Rook, Varric and Harding were trying to find Neve and the Venatori when a huge rift in the skies appeared. Demons didn’t take long to invade their world. Amidst chaos, they found Neve freezing her captors with her cold magic. She then led the team to Solas’ hideout. There, they found an Eluvian which took them to Arlathan Forest, the very place considered by many the most significant proof humans will never overcome their fear and hatred towards elves.
The process to tear down the Veil was set in motion when they reached the ritual site. The amount of demons increased as they advanced.
“For a dwarf, I’m always surrounded by weird magic,” Varric made a remark, trying to cope with his failure at understanding any of that.
“Luckily for you, I’m a mage. Leave it to me and focus on the demons,” Neve replied with a cynic smirk.
“Not arguing with that,” Harding followed.
They finally reached the ritual site after defeating a Pride demon. Solas was drawing so much energy that the ground shook under his feet. In some ways, it was already too late to make things go back to what they used to be.
“All right. I’ll take it from here,” the storyteller took a last look at his team. Whichever the outcome, he was proud of them.
“Varric. Solas isn’t going to stop just because an old friend asks nicely,” the scout felt the urge to stop her friend one last time.
“We’ve got your back. If anyone can get through to him, you can,” Rook couldn’t help but grow fond of their mentor. They believed in his good intentions.
“Thanks, Rook. Whatever else he is, he’s my friend. And if he won’t listen to me… then he’ll hear from Bianca,” he hesitated and turned to his protégé one last time. “Take care of the team for me.”
The dwarf has never once in his life turned his back on his friends. The opposite wasn’t necessarily true. Even so, in his weary heart, he needed to believe in people’s kindness in order to avoid despair. All led to that moment.
When questioned, Solas gave the answers Varric was already expecting. In all his arrogance, he disregarded the lives taken in the aftermath. Bianca was destroyed in the process after a threatening plea, if that was even possible. For the first time in his entire existence, the dwarf was forced to face hopelessness.
Rook, on the other hand, had the idea of disruptingt the ritual by taking down the statues of the site. Reckless and impulsive, but also brilliant and brave, Harding recalled the way the storyteller described them to her when they met for the first time.
“I know you’re acting out of guilt for something, Chuckles. But it’s not too late,” the only weapon he had now was his words. And they were failing. Failing him, mostly.
“That’s the difference between us, Varric. I act upon my mistakes. Had the Veil not existed, Hawke would not have been left behind. You’d never be apart.”
Silence. All the noises around him, muffled. The lowest of blows. That was how far down Solas was capable of going.
Before any meaningful reactions, Rook’s plan succeeded. That was the only window he’d get. If that was the end, Varric only hoped that at least they’d be there, waiting for him.
He took a step and reached out for Solas’ dagger. Their struggle resulted in the weapon on his chest. After that, just flashes. Shades of green. Too much pain to remain conscious. Reality was slipping through his fingers. And then… There was nothing.
***
The Fade. Time unknown.
Varric woke up in a familiar and yet foreign bedroom. He was lying on a canopy bed, soft as cotton and warm as the morning. At the other side of the room, he recognized the silhouette standing next to the vanity, soaking a towel with blood stains in a bowl of water.
“Ah, shit…”
“Took you long enough,” they replied with a husky and reassuring voice. Their eyes met, which was enough for the dwarf’s heart to skip a beat.
Varric would have sneaked away if not for the pain on his chest. Besides, Bianca had been destroyed. He was vulnerable, wounded and unarmed. With no options left, he embraced his fate.
“Look. You got me. I know I’m in the Fade, the green atmosphere is impossible to miss. So let’s just stop right here, you don’t need to pretend to be them.”
“You think I’m a demon?” they took it personally.
“Heh, that’s exactly what a demon would say. I’ve played this game before. The only reason you’re still talking is because my crossbow’s dust by now.”
“Wait, you let Bianca get damaged? I’m starting to think you’re the demon here.”
Then there was the sudden realization.
“Hawke?” their name left Varric’s lips in a mix of yearning, hope and hesitation. It couldn’t be. The dwarf wouldn’t know what to do if it was a dream or an illusion. It would hurt all over again. But the peculiar witty and sharp tongue was too evident. A demon could tap into one’s memories, but could never play a role with such a deep level of understanding. And, on top of that… The way they talked about Bianca… Only the real Hawke would know Varric’s most intimate subtleties.
The Champion nodded and approached the bed, sitting on its edge. The color of their hair wasn’t as bright as the dwarf remembered, giving room to several locks of white hair. Wrinkles and furrows also announced the inevitability of aging. The familiarity resided in the details, though: the tired eyes, the asymmetrical and rushed blood swipe, the screeches all over the armor, the timid smile hiding all the tragedy and sadness only they could carry.
“In the literal flesh.”
Varric ignored the pain and gave Hawke a tight hug. He wasn’t one to touch people, but he’d certainly make an exception for them, whether they objected or not. On the other hand, Hawke only realized the importance of that moment when they felt his robust embrace. It all came together: every time fate forced them to walk separate ways, every time tragedy took something or someone from them, every time they had to fight their way towards justice and survival. And, with every loss, a never-ending toll. Just this once, though, their most treasured person returned to them.
“You've aged. And what about that wound? Hasn't life been treating you well?” they asked as they laid eyes on their friend yet again.
“A very long story, one that I’m willing to tell, you know me. But first things first. Where are we? What happened to you?”
“Ah, right. That’s another long story, so I’ll make it short. This is Kirkwall. Or, at least, the Fade’s version of the city. Reality is a little tricky. Twisted things, logic almost never applies. When people dream of stuff, it manifests here. Instead of citizens, we have spirits. They’re fine, we keep the place safe and tight. Today was weird, though. There was a rift, everything was shaking. And then you fell from the skies. No, this isn’t an accurate description. You floated towards the ground, which was fortunate. That wound is serious as it is. I took you home, tended to your injuries and… Here we are.”
All that information was simply too much to process.
“Hawke… How did you survive?”
“As I said, things manifest in the Fade. Food, water, clothes, supplies, my very estate. I… managed,” they weren’t telling the whole story, not because they didn’t trust Varric. It was simply too painful to think of living all alone for a whole decade in an alien world, where time is confusing and there’s no day/night cycle. It was a wonder they didn’t go mad in the process. Well, perhaps just a little.
“I’m sorry… I should have turned to check on you… One moment, you were right behind me. I just thought…”
“Please, don’t blame yourself for my actions. You tend to do that a lot. It was my decision to stay.”
In truth, the Champion would rather keep most of their journey to themself in order to protect their best friend. They didn’t tell him about the part when the giant spider’s sharp claws left a huge wound on their back, a poisonous one, nevertheless. They also stayed quiet about the several days they drifted in the ocean, hoping to die at some point, whether by infection or starvation. They docked at Kirkwall after the Maker knows how long. The spirits helped with the loneliness, but it wasn’t the same. The Fade wasn’t an eternal haven. It was just… a strange place.
“How about you tell me your story after a good sleep? We do have a Hanged Man here. We could drink and catch up with old times. It’s important that you rest.”
“All right. It’s just… I’m scared this is all a dream. Will you still be here when I wake up?” the dwarf’s eyes were heartbroken.
“Don’t worry, Varric. It seems you’re stuck with me for life,” they jested, unaware that such a fate was actually a blessing.
***
The Lighthouse in the Fade. A few days after the incident in Arlatham Forest.
Rook took a few days to recover from the blow. Their head hurt like hell. At least, there was a familiar voice coming from the other side of the room. Their mentor was hurt, but not mortally wounded, which was a relief. They had no idea of what just happened. Sure, they interrupted Solas’ ritual, but something was off. A shadow growing on their back, ready to devour Thedas in its corruption and greed. Besides, they were temporarily trapped in the Fade.
Still, the reassuring part was that Varric was at their side, guiding them regarding their next steps. As long as he was there, Rook wouldn’t lose hope.
***
The Fade. Time unknown.
There was a place in Hightown where the buildings weren’t entirely shaped after the real Kirkwall. They were incomplete, having holes and twisted rooms, pretty much like everything else in the Fade except for the nice garden at the top of the highest building. Some noble’s dream, probably. It was Hawke’s favorite place. They’d often sit there and watch the evergreen landscape, pretending the sunset existed in that world. It was a little bit confusing – they could never tell what time or day it was since their fight against Nightmare and its giant spider. Still, it was all they had. A moment of lonely contemplation. Even so, against all odds, they had their friend now to share that moment with.
Sitting together at the edge of the curb, the two remained in silence, almost visualizing the warm sun, the smell of the flowers and the taste of salty water from the sea. The real world was still fresh in Varric’s memories in contrast to the long decade of Hawke’s imprisonment. He felt bad for it.
“So… We’re stuck in the Fade, huh? Not the paradise I envisioned for myself but at least I’ve got good company. Unless we grow tired of each other and go for a divorce, of course. Heh, let’s just hope our marriage lasts for a little longer.”
“Right,” the Champion chuckled. “I know you’re jesting but I’ll have you know there’s no one else I’d rather have at my side. You’ve always been there for me when it mattered.”
Except when it mattered the most, the dwarf looked down. He couldn’t believe fate brought them back together. He couldn’t miss yet another opportunity out of fear of losing them. That very feeling he tried to suffocate and ignore was still there. Gathering the courage as he fiddled with his own fingers, then, he decided he’d finally get it off his hairy chest. The two of them always flirted back and forth as a running joke. Perhaps it was time to address the issue in a more serious approach.
“What if… What if I wasn’t jesting?” Varric continued.
“Hm? What do you mean?”
The storyteller unleashed a long sigh.
“That’s the thing with being your best friend. You know me far too well, you’d be able to tell if I was lying. Maybe I could go for a story instead?”
The Champion nodded. Despite their confusion, they trusted Varric to make sense in the end.
“Right... So… That night, when we got out of the Fade, we returned to Skyhold. The task of telling other people about you fell into my hands. Understandable, really. I was the closest person to you. It didn’t make it any easier, though. The Inquisitor saw me in my grief and listened to me tell that story about your uncle and that food investment scheme. I didn’t use a single adjective to describe you. Actions alone did a pretty good job at painting your character. But then the Inquisitor said something that has been stuck in my mind for the last twelve years. When I finished my tale, they said, ‘I’m sorry. I know how much you loved them.’ Those words… Shit, Hawke, I’m really bad at this. You’ve read Swords & Shields, right? I can’t do love. And, even if I did, it was too late. You were gone. All I had was memories. Then I came to realize… Ever since I met you, you’ve always been in my thoughts. Sod it, I wrote a book about you. The truth is, I have no idea where I’m getting at with this, I just… I don’t know. Maybe I’m too afraid of keeping all this to myself as I always do and lose you again. I mean, if there’s a Maker, if Andraste is real, they really pulled the strings to bring us back together at the most improbable scenario ever. Which means I got a second chance and I’m not wasting it. So there you have it, my most confusing tale. Not proud of this one, if I’m being honest.”
Hawke took their time to process the dwarf’s words one by one. He was indeed telling the truth when describing the tale as confusing. But it wasn’t an issue because the Champion knew most real experiences and feelings were chaotic and senseless. On top of that, they were still trying to understand the part about love. A tricky one, for sure.
“Before anything else, I just have to ask. What about you and Bianca?”
“I’m totally prepared for this question. See, every time you asked about her, I always responded with ‘it’s complicated.’ But when I’m with you? Aside from the blood magic, demons, mercenaries, smugglers, assassins, red lyrium, templars, Venatori and stuff? It’s… easy. It feels simple. I never had to make an effort to be around you.”
Their eyes met for the first time since they started their conversation. Despite the aging, they could still see each other as they were in their first interaction.
“I’d be lying if I told you I haven’t considered it before but… I always found that prospect to be unavailable when it comes to us, Varric…”
“Well, it isn’t. And don’t get me wrong. I don’t expect anything from you. I already have everything I need as your friend. I’m… content. As stubborn as a dwarf can be, I just figured it was about sodding time to let you know, now that we’re reunited. You never know, I might never get another chance,” he chuckled at the end of his sentence.
The Champion took their time to admire that smile. They knew it well, the one used to hide a deeper sadness, a deeper meaning behind words. Varric never expected to be mutual, he already decided to die on a one-sided feeling, even though it wasn’t. The two of them were the only things in the Fade that were immutable. It was about time to change that, too.
“Follow me. There’s something you need to see,” Hawke stood up and offered their hand to lift their friend.
They walked in comforting silence across Kirkwall, all the way back to Hawke’s estate. On the second floor, there was a shelf full of books. The Champion picked the one with the eye and the sword on its cover.
“See this? It’s your book. It’s incomplete, I know. I hardly think people would even dream about a whole story and make it consistent. The important parts are all here, though. I know how you and the Inquisitor’s team defeated Corypheus. That was a relief, truly. This is also how I know you were safe. I also got Hard in Hightown, Swords & Shields and my, erm, tale. They gave me comfort, Varric. Your words reached me beyond the Veil and gave me comfort. You’ve always been with me, even unbeknownst to you.”
Once more, the storyteller was speechless. He never knew his words could be so powerful to transcend reality. But they were.
He proceeded to ignore the book in front of him. There was a more challenging obstacle between them: a height difference to overcome. He didn’t know what came over him, there was only the urge to pull Hawke closer. He grabbed them by the fur of their armor and made them lean towards him. Their lips met.
“S-Shit. I’m sorry. That was… weird,” his face was burning red.
“It’s in the title, isn’t it? Then again, it’s a good kind of weird,” the Champion cupped his face and stroked his skin with their thumbs. “You better get used to it from now on.”
“Yeah… I think I can live with that.”
***
The prison in the Fade. Moments before the last stand against Elgar’nan.
Solas played Rook for a fool the entire time. Perhaps it was revenge for disrupting the ritual, perhaps it was just an opportunity the god of trickery couldn’t miss. It didn’t matter. Varric was dead and it was up to them to accept that if they wanted to escape that place.
“Sodding hypocrite! He told me he abhorred blood magic! And he used it on me anyway!” they blasted a few rocks with their magic, a surge of rage right before a wave of tears. “I should’ve noticed by the way they talked about him, I just… didn’t want to believe it.”
Varric’s memory had just spoken to Rook, asking them to move on and forgive themself for what happened. It wasn’t easy. They never asked to be a leader. Were all those pieces of advice fake? Or was his essence there in his teachings? In addition, there was still one elven god to kill. Thedas was in chaos, drowning in a blight. Rook felt alone, powerless. Staying would be so easy… Still, that wasn’t what Varric would have wanted for them. They owed that much to Davrin, Assan and Bellara as well.
“I’m sorry… I failed so many people, it’s hard to live with the consequences. It won’t happen again,” they said, finally leaving the prison and embracing their impossible fight against a blight.
***
The Fade. Time unknown.
Varric opened his eyes after a decent night’s sleep – or whatever time it was, no one could tell for certain. The first thing he saw was Hawke’s back. A huge scar crossed it transversally, from shoulder to hips. He knew it was the giant spider’s doing. He just didn’t know how to make it less painful. The dwarf, then, merely snuggled closer to them and held them in his arms. He needed a new weapon if he wanted to protect them. Even inside walls, Kirkwall has never been entirely safe, Fade or not. So he hoped someone would dream of Bianca. He regretted not learning how to use a proper bow or how to throw daggers. He needed to change that as soon as possible. Anything to prevent Hawke from getting hurt ever again.
***
Minrathous. After the triumph over the elven gods. The last chance to save the Veil.
Despite the wounds all over his body, Solas was resolute in watching his initial plan to come into fruition. With both Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan dead, there wasn’t a source of power holding the Veil anymore. It was only a matter of time until the real world and the Fade became one again.
“You still can do something about it! You’re an elven god! You can bind yourself to the Veil, it’s the only way to stop what you started!” Rook was mad and they had reason, but even so they knew their words wouldn’t suffice to convince the Dread Wolf to sacrifice his very existence to save a place he cared so little for. That’s why they weren’t alone when confronting him.
The inquisitor was the first to appear in front of Fen’Harel. While Solas had no particular attachment to the former leader, there wasn’t any ill to be wished upon them either. Cole followed, standing next to them.
“You hurt. Guilt. Grief. Gloom. Only you can make it stop.”
“Cole? You were a spirit once, and yet you decided to embrace your human side. Don’t you regret it? You can’t forget and make others forget anymore. Was it worth it?”
“I feel. I see. Am seen. I forgave me. So can you.”
“Cole is right, Solas. Isn’t the toll you’re carrying enough? Making it heavier won’t ease the pain you went through,” the Inquisitor completed.
“Besides… ‘Twas the devotion you held for your dearest friend who led to this tragedy. Be at peace for I return your lost love to you,” Morrigan was the last to join the plea.
There was disdain and resentment for she was the one who drank from the Well of Sorrows. A human should not be the bearer of elven culture and history. That’s why she transferred the essence of the well to the last fragment of Mythal. In that moment, the elven god of motherhood and justice manifested her ethereal form before Solas’ eyes. For a cunning god, words failed him.
“Ma vhenan,” she said, her right hand reaching out to his face. “This is not the way to right our wrongs. The time of gods is due. Let our last act be carried by those who believed in us. By those we failed so many eons ago.”
Mythal’s form wasn’t physical and yet Solas could feel her warming touch. He could melt in her embrace again if not for the grievance and bitterness of their shared history. The only way to break the cycle was forgiveness, even though he didn’t see himself worthy of it. Even though his pride was too stern to overcome.
“Ar ghilas vir banal,” he hesitated.
“Ma melava halani. Let me help you. Var lath vir suledin,” they held hands and turned to face the tear. “Tel mar solas ena mar din.”
A moment of silence to consider, his biggest fear eased. It was all he needed.
“So be it.”
Mythal wasn’t as strong as she used to since her murder, but she still held power. Enough to transfer her knowledge and improved wisdom to every elf in Thedas. At a distance, she looked at Bellara and nodded, hopeful that the elven culture would flourish again. All the lost words, traditions, festivities, gestures. It was theirs once more. She couldn’t return their immortality, although her magic cured many wounds.
“Dareth shiral, Rook,” the god of trickery stared at them one last time. “Ah, and…A word of advice. Look for Kirkwall.”
Solas didn’t explain himself. It wasn’t his style. The last two gods finally walked into the tear and bound themselves to the Veil, preserving the world as it was. And then they were gone. It was over.
***
The Lighthouse. A few days later.
The Eluvians still worked. The team were able to access the Fade and so many other places through the Crossroads. Allies spread their forces to aid survivors of the blight, picking up the pieces of each nation and people. Thedas was utterly devastated but its inhabitants resisted, as they always did.
Rook was sitting in Varric’s room. Well, not really his. He was never there to claim it. Still, the memories caused by blood magic lingered strongly on their mind, turning the place into a special memento. On the shelf, there were his book about the Inquisition and the broken parts of Bianca.
“I should get this fixed,” they clicked their tongue. “Maybe the real Bianca? Varric spoke vaguely of her a few times. Harding and the Inquisitor might know about her whereabouts. It’s the least I could do to honor his memory.”
In the meantime, Harding and Emmrich exchanged notes in the living room regarding a very delicate matter. In other words, Rook wasn’t supposed to listen to their conversation.
“Okay so… We only learned recently that Rook didn’t know Varric was… Solas played with their mind and we didn’t notice. But we have you, a necromancer! It shouldn’t be hard for you to contact Varric’s spirit, right? Still, we failed every time. Any clues why that is?” the scout made a quick recap of events.
“It’s an enigma inside a conundrum, my dear. My theories so far turned out to be too feeble. For instance, one may point out that he’s a dwarf, and as such, his spirit doesn’t dwell in the Fade. In addition, you haven’t been able to locate him through the Stone, is that correct?” the professor inquired.
Harding even tried to come up with a response, but Emmrich was right. Even if Varric didn’t consider himself to be a “real” dwarf, the Stone would still welcome him. In short, no matter their beliefs or cultures, his spirit was nowhere to be found.
“There’s one venue we didn’t explore yet, I’m afraid. You said his body was never found. Have you considered the possibility that he’s still alive?”
“I… Look, Neve and I saw the moment Solas stabbed Varric with his dagger. And then there was this bright light when the ritual was disrupted. Even if he was indeed dragged into the Fade… I don’t think he’d survive, not with that kind of wound. And we don’t want to mislead Rook with false hopes,” the dwarf seemed distressed.
“Uh, am I interrupting something?” Rook couldn’t help but overhear their name. They were carrying the broken pieces of Bianca.
“Oh! Rook, darling! My most sincere apologies, my dearest. We didn’t mean to disturb you. We were… uh… discussing… matters related to the… possible afterlife of dwarves, yes! Since, well, Scout Harding is finally uncovering the secrets of dwarven history thanks to her connection to the Stone!” the flamboyant necromancer nearly had an aneurysm trying to cover the real reason behind their meeting without lying. Thankfully, Rook was too tired to realize the sweat rolling down his forehead.
“Y-Yes, that’s exactly what we’re doing!” Harding followed Emmrich’s lead with a suspicious chuckle.
“Right… Hey, Harding, I was wondering... Do you think your Inquisition friends can find the real Bianca to fix the crossbow? It’s such a waste to leave it this way.”
“O-Oh… Yes! I can ask around. If someone can fix it, it’s definitely Bianca!”
“Nice. Thanks. I’m going to bed now. Are you coming, Emmrich?”
“In a moment, darling. I won’t be long.”
As soon as Rook’s silhouette disappeared in the corridor, they both sighed in relief. The guilt of losing their mentor still weighed heavily on their shoulders. They saved the world but their loved ones paid the ultimate price. Varric, Davrin and Assan, none deserved to have their lives taken.
Having a necromancer on one’s team, however, meant that death wasn’t the last nail in their metaphorical coffins. In an attempt to contact them, Emmrich reached out for their spirits – without success, much to his surprise. Surely having their remains would make matters a little less complicated, but a curious twist of fate prevented them from finding all the three bodies. In any case, they decided to keep their plan a secret until success was certain, mostly to protect Rook from disappointment.
“We’re exhausting our options. Neve’s wisps, Lucanis and Spite… Regardless of their connection to the afterlife, they too found themselves in the dark. I do not intend to give up just yet, that much I assure you,” the necromancer scratched his chin softly, forcing his brain cells to come up with more ideas.
“Well, there may be one more option left. The Inquisition finally returned my letters. Cole agreed to come to the Lighthouse and talk to us. He’s only half-spirit now, but he’s still connected to the Fade.”
“Excellent. I’ll continue my research, of course!” Emmrich rejoiced. “You see, as I was browsing the library, I have stumbled upon–”
“Guys!” Bellara interrupted them with an energetic smile, waving her hands in excitement as she approached her friends. “Sorry to interrupt but you won’t believe this! So after Mythal returned her knowledge to the elves, fixing artifacts has never been easier! I was just fixing this one related to the connection she created, like… Like a feeling similar to what dwarves have with the Stone, right? Apparently, we have it now and we can amplify it with artifacts! Isn’t it amazing? Anyway, it’s working now! And I used it to search for Davrin’s essence. And… And I found a signal! It could mean nothing, I don’t want to raise any expectations here… But what if he survived? We have to send someone to check on Tearstone island!”
“The Grey Wardens! Evka and Antoine can do it for us!” Harding stood up in a hurry and took the lead to gather a team.
It didn’t take long for them to search the area, now mostly made of glass after Elgar’nan’s tantrum. Much to their surprise, his magic crystallized the ruins and everything within, including Davrin and Assan.
A team of mages made sure to break them free and heal their injuries in time. They brought him to Rivain and tended after him. Rook arrived just a few minutes later.
“Davrin!” they hugged their friend, forgetting that he was still recovering in bed.
“Ouch! Let’s take it slowly, please…” he jested.
“For a Grey Warden, you sure defy death very often,” they followed the joke, holding back tears. “And where’s my good boy?”
Assan cooed and rubbed his body against Rook’s. Luckily, he only got a broken leg.
“Typical. He always gets all the attention…” the elf pouted and then gave his friend a gentle smile. “I’ve heard you guys succeeded at stopping the gods and the blight. Good job. I wish I was there…”
“Aw, you didn’t miss much. Dragons, darkspawn, Venatori, Antaam, you know, the usual. I’m still pissed at Solas, though. He… used blood magic to affect my memories. That was harsh to deal with…”
“It’s not unlike him to manipulate people.”
“Yeah… And I think he tried to do it a second time, too. He said something about Kirkwall, the city where Varric was born. Harding sent her people to take a look into it but they found nothing. I’m not sure if we’re still missing something.”
Davrin hummed and crossed his arms.
“I’m no expert, you got your flamboyant necromancer to lecture you. But what if he meant the Fade? You know, how things manifest in there? Truly a weird place.”
Rook’s mouth dropped with the revelation. How in the world haven't they thought about that possibility? Davrin was indeed essential for that team to work, and Rook was grateful that at least he and Assan were well. Maybe it wasn’t naivety or foolishness to have just a little bit of hope when it came to their mentor…
***
Somewhere in the Fade’s version of the Storm Coast. A week later.
“All right, everyone. This is the closest place to Kirkwall we managed to find in the Fade in such a short notice. Things are always shifting around here so we can’t miss this opportunity. We’ll have to sail across the Waking Sea. Luckily, we have a boat,” Harding gathered the group in order to make preparations.
“Boat? I didn’t dream of my ship every single night to be disrespected like that, Harding,” Isabela rested her hands on her hips, showing disbelief. “Also call me captain.”
“Ugh, fine. Captain Isabela will sail us across the sea. We don’t know what to expect but Neve’s wisps will serve as guiding lights. Cole and Professor Emmrich will keep an eye on shifting landscapes. Any questions?”
“Several, but we don’t have time. Let’s go,” Neve came aboard. Many followed her: the Inquisitor, Cole, Captain Isabela, Aveline, Emmrich and, lastly, Rook. They were shortly halted by a pull at their sleeve, however.
“Rook, wait. I have something for you. A gift,” Harding brought a rectangular box with her, even though no one asked questions about it. “Open it.”
They did as told. Inside, there was Bianca, all restored and upgraded.
“Harding… I can’t even find the words to thank you enough. This is… It’s amazing! Thank you!”
“It’s not a big deal, really,” she blushed, matching the tone of her skin with her hair. “You know… Bianca blamed the Inquisitor and I a lot for what happened to Varric. We don’t know what we’re going to find over there but… I won’t give up on hope. And I think she won’t either. That’s why she fixed the crossbow for us. Let’s find out together, shall we?”
Rook nodded and they set sail towards the unknown.
***
The Fade’s version of Kirkwall. Two weeks later.
Hawke and Varric were back to the habitual spot at the city’s highest building, admiring the landscape in silence and tasting the local wine. The dwarf was in fact trying to come up with new ideas for a book. He was growing tired of thrillers, it was time to try another genre. Which one, he didn’t know yet.
As he dissociated, however, he spotted a peculiar figure over the sea.
“Hawke… I think I’m going crazy… I’m spotting a ship.”
“What?” the Champion stood and narrowed their eyes. “Make us two, then. I’m also seeing it. And I think… I think it’s Isabela’s.”
“We’re definitely going crazy…”
They both headed to the gates of Kirkwall and waited for the ship to dock. At a certain distance, the people aboard started shouting in joy and amusement when the residents were spotted at the entrance.
Rook was the first to land. In a hurry, they ignored the possibility of evil magic and, on their knees, hugged Varric as if their life depended on it.
“Kid… Is it really you?”
“I’m me if you’re you,” they stared at each other. There was no mistake.
“I knew you were too stubborn to die, Hawke. Glad to see you again,” Isabela stood in front of their friend with a smile and, secretly, heartful relief.
“Are you daring me now? You know how motivated I am when you do that,” they jested. Aveline, on the other hand, punched both their arms.
“Don’t do that ever again,” the acting Viscount took a good look at her friend and wrapped her arms around them. “Carver didn’t want to come. He was afraid of getting disappointed.”
“Well, once more it’s up to me to frustrate his expectations, then.”
Introductions were made. Questions were asked. Rook handed Bianca back to its original owner and, as expected, wondered about their return to their world.
In reality, Varric was torn. It was all too good to be true. He knew heroes didn’t get their happy endings. Which meant he wouldn’t be ungrateful to the blessings the Maker, Andraste or whatever god provided. Thedas was just like that. One day, everything is fine. The next, a blight takes over. People die or sacrifice themselves for a cause. The same old story…
With a concerning expression, the dwarf looked at his partner and then at Rook.
“Kid… I’m sorry but… I think we’re safer here…”
“What? Y-You can’t be serious! We came all the way–”
The Inquisitor placed their hand on Rook’s shoulder and approached them.
“Varric. Hawke. Much of what happened to the two of you came to pass due to the consequences of my choices. I shouldn’t have left you in the Fade, Hawke. And Varric? I shouldn’t have asked you to track down Solas when he was my responsibility. You nearly lost your life in the process. I’m glad you’re reunited, though. That said, there’s a place in our world for the two of you. It’s not Kirkwall. It’s safe, it’s thriving. It’s my gift to the two of you as a way to apologize. And if another blight or another enemy threatens our existence, you won’t have to worry. Rook’s team and the Inquisition will watch over Thedas. Your rest is well deserved. Still, if you’d rather stay, we’ll understand,” there was melancholy and guilt in the Inquisitor’s tone.
“Stay over,” Hawke responded. “We’ll give you an answer tomorrow. Or… Whatever. It’s hard to keep track of time here.”
They all agreed.
***
The Heartlands of Orlais. A vineyard between Lake Celestine and the Waking Sea.
Hawke and Varric were never enthusiastic towards Orlais and its culture. In fact, they found everything far too unnecessary, from the Game to the fancy masks, from the court intrigue to the military expansionism. Still, the idea of spending retirement far from civilization wasn’t so bad. So when the Inquisitor bought them a vineyard in order to make amends for what happened in Adamant Fortress, they accepted it.
The Champion left the tragedy of their life behind. Their only worry now was the sweet grapes of their farm, the abundance of flowers and birds and the welfare of their new mabari hound. Meanwhile, Varric left the title of Viscount to Aveline and his network of spies to Charter. He finally found the time and peace to do what he did best: writing.
A new book was published after a year: The Veilguard. Of course, he skipped the part about his relationship with Hawke. Their favorite pastime was denying all allegations while also flirting with each other in front of people. It pretty much drove all his fans crazy. They also enjoyed spending some time together at nearby inns and bars. But their favorite festivity? The (now traditional) First Day at the Corbeau Violet, their vineyard.
It was common for Thedosians to travel and visit relatives and friends from all over the kingdoms at the beginning of a new year. It was the one day when they could reunite with his loved ones. They arrived one by one, from Val Royeaux to Skyhold, from Redcliff to Kirkwall, from Minrathous to Rivain: members of the Inquisition, former teammates, close friends. They brought gifts and trinkets, food and garbs, symbolizing the reconstruction of their land after the Sixth Blight. They dedicated a whole week to banquets, games and small talk. They delighted for hours in sessions of Wicked Grace, Diamondback and Dead Man's Tricks. Very often, someone ended up naked.
When the voices and noises became too loud, though, Hawke discreetly excused themself to their guests and headed to the balcony on the last floor of the main building. From there, they could watch the party from a safe distance. Varric made a habit of checking on them every time.
“Hey. You all right?” he brought more wine with him. Corbeau Violet’s variety was particularly bittersweet.
“Sure. I’m just taking a moment to observe from afar.”
“And what do you see?”
“Contentment. I never expected to feel that much joy and peace ever again. We had something similar in Lothering. As you know, it’s all but memories now. I appreciate creating new ones, though. And speaking of which… You haven’t come up with a new nickname for me. I haven’t forgotten your promise. I’m not that old yet.”
“Yet. But you’re right. I do have something. Remember that pastry chef we met in Kirkwall? Aveline told me the poor guy died during the last blight. Still, she managed to retrieve his book of recipes. And guess what? We’ll finally get his famous cinnamon rolls back on the menu.”
“That’s… great news, honestly. But I fail to see what any of this has to do with me or my nickname,” the Champion raised an eyebrow.
“It’s my favorite dessert, Cinnamon.”
“I know. Wait, what? No. No! You’re not calling me Cinnamon.”
“Yes, I am. For the rest of our lives. It’s decided.”
“No! I demand a better one! I’m serious!”
“Better get used to it. Cinnamon,” the dwarf chuckled, taking delight in tormenting his partner.
That’s how they started their new year: amidst protests and laughter, surrounded by people they loved and cared for. And Varric finished his tale at the side of his favorite of them all.